Page 2 of The Avenging Angel and the Spy
“That is so, sir,” Belle lied.
“An English lady traveling alone?” His voice held a faint note of censure.
“Alas, sir, I am recently widowed. Since your great general Napoleon has been so gracious as to declare a peace between our two nations, I thought to visit France as so many of my countrymen are doing. In the gaiety of Paris, I might forget the good husband I have lost.”
“But you are heading away from Paris, madame.”
“True.” Belle permitted her gaze to rake over the sergeant’s bulky form with just the right combination of shyness and bold admiration. “I have done enough forgetting.”
The sergeant’s cheeks waxed red. He returned the passport, removed his cockaded hat, attempted to smooth his coarsewindblown hair, then straightened the hat upon his head again. While he was so flustered, Belle pressed home her advantage. Resting her hand upon his sleeve, she looked him full in the face and coaxed, “Perhaps, Capitain?—”
“Sergeant, madame. Sergeant Lefranc of the Elboeuf militia.”
“My dear Sergeant Lefranc, perhaps if you would tell me exactly what you are searching for, I could be of some help to you.”
The sergeant’s arm quivered beneath her touch. “Deserters, madame. Deserters from the army.”
Deserters? Not a certain royalist spy who most often went by the name of Isabelle Varens? Not the family of the Chevalier Coterin, the agent recently caught pilfering Consul Napoleon Bonaparte’s private dispatches?
Phillipe gave an audible sigh, and if Sergeant Lefranc had been gazing at Madame Coterin, he would have seen the relief she could not disguise. But the soldier’s stare never wavered from Belle, and she schooled her features most carefully.
“Dear me!” she said. “Deserters! How very dreadful.”
“Indeed it is, madame. But you would be astonished at how oft the country folk protect such rogues. That is why we need to stop every coach to be certain no one is hiding them.”
“As if I would do such a thing.” Belle heaved a tremulous breath. The sergeant’s interested gaze followed the rise and fall of her breasts. “I despise such cowards who slink away, leaving brave men like you to face all the danger.”
Sergeant Lefranc shuffled his feet, an embarrassed smirk on his face. “Well, 1 can see I made a mistake. Please accept my apologies, madame. Although it was most suspicious—the way you attempted to avoid being stopped.”
“Not at all, sir. You see, I have heard horrible tales of your deserters, how they prey upon the countryside like maraudingbrigands. When I saw the blue coats, I had no notion who might be after me, and being but a defenseless female …”
Belle allowed her lashes to drift downward, all the while watching covertly for any sign the sergeant might disbelieve her.
But the man was only too eager to agree. “Of course, Madame Gordon. Such journeys are indeed hazardous for a lady with no male protector.”
It was fortunate, Belle thought, that the sergeant did not see the way Phillipe flushed and glowered at him.
“Perhaps,” Sergeant Lefranc continued, moistening his lips, considering there are these deserters prowling about, my men and I should provide you an escort to your destination.”
Although Belle greeted the suggestion with concealed dismay, a spirit of mischief also stirred inside her. Ever since the Revolution had first swept through France, she had had more than one occasion to escape to the coast, but she had never done so decorously escorted by a contingent of the Revolutionary Army. Yet when she caught a glimpse of Madame Coterin’s face sick with apprehension, Belle suppressed the devilish impulse to make even more a fool of Sergeant Lefranc than she already had.
She graciously refused his offer, assuring him that she did not mean to travel much farther that day. When he continued to press her, she silenced him by saying, “And I have no wish to get you into difficulties, sir, by drawing you so far away from your garrison.”
The sergeant stopped in midsentence, clamping his lips together and looking uncomfortable. It was just as she suspected, Belle told herself. The good Lefranc had already exceeded his authority by traveling even this far from the town of Elboeuf. After a few more weak protestations, he was content to take his leave of her, pressing a kiss upon the back of her hand before closing the coach door. The sergeant remounted his horse and signaled to her coachman that he was free to continue.
Belle heard Feydeau spit out a final oath before whipping up the horses. As the coach lumbered into movement, a heavy silence settled over the interior, a silence that remained unbroken until they saw the last of Sergeant Lefranc and his farewell salute.
“Insolent dog,” Phillipe muttered, glaring out the window.
“He was but carrying out his mission,” Belle said.
Madame Coterin released the death grip she held upon Sophie long enough to cross herself. “Thank the Bon Dieu.”
“Not God, Maman,” Phillipe said. “We must thank Mademoiselle Isabelle.” His eyes lit up with admiration. “Never have I known any other woman possessing such sangfroid, such courage.”
I was simply carrying out my mission,” Belle said. But that was not true, she thought. She was being paid to spy upon the French army, to gauge the extent of military preparations in France, not to rescue the Coterin family. She would likely receive a blistering communication from Victor Merchant regarding her deviation from duty. Ah, well. Belle shrugged. She would consign it to the fire as she did with all the unpleasant notices from her employer.
“In any case,” she said aloud to forestall further compliments from Phillipe, “we stood in no danger. Luckily the sergeant was not looking for us.”
